A couple of days in Talladega

Since Mark has the time to travel, we decided to spontaneously go to Alabama for Spring Break. We waited until after the Open House the elementary school was hosting, in which hundreds (thousands?) of students and parents and siblings mill around a space intended for much fewer numbers, to ooh and ahh over the work done up to that point in the academic school year.

But it's good to be invited into the school at all, and to see my children proud of what they have accomplished. Besides, it was raining and there was a cool rainbow we went out to see from the schoolyard. Max has been talking about it ever since.

But then we set off on our trip, which is about a 700 mile journey, so leaving at 7 pm put us crossing the Mississippi close to 1 am, which is when we decided to cash in on some Marriott points and crash in a motel. We made it to our destination the next day, which was a condo out in the sticks, the closest town being Talladega, where famous race cars speed around a track that we didn't see. We were too busy chilling at the condo, where Mark's mother and sister's family joined us too. It was fun to go somewhere else besides the family house and the weather was cooperative enough that the kids went out and dug in the sand or threw rocks in the lake, with Mark or Kelley supervising.


We took turns cooking, and the condo was a great deal. Although I was rather exhausted from all the travel and moving stuff in and out... plus being in a growth stage of pregnancy, it was good to get together with the other part of the Morris family,. Mark did a great job of entertaining kids, and Nana got a little break from the crazy teaching schedule she does week in and week out. And Kelley and Rewa from their usual busy lives enforcing and defending the law in Atlanta.

We found a church to go to on Sunday, which ward was extremely excited about our attending... they were very small, and we looked to be a bigger family, since we had our 4 kids plus nephew. Hey, that's big for 'Bama. That afteroon, after Rewa finished making dinner, we ran outside to get some pictures together.


Matthew was trying really hard to fall in. The water was disgusting enough under the docks that I told him I would not go in after him.

View from the balcony it was too chilly to use.

We stayed the last night with Aunt Rita, who recently turned 50, so we celebrated by having a late-night fried chicken meal and banana pudding. Actually, Felicity requested Nana's specialty meal, but it counts, right?
Mark and Nana went to do some legal stuff and we went to the park in Hueytown for the kids to get out some wiggles before resuming the trek home.


It was a long drive home, but thanks to books on CD from the library, we made it in one piece! (A little forlorn at the end of Where the Red Fern Grows though- Felicity asked, "Why do you have to get such sad books???") We love books on CD. The only unappreciative one is Max, who gets sick of his carseat regardless of entertainment.

Feed the Quack Quacks, tuppence a bag

The weather was warmer today, so we headed out to feed some ducks at a nearby pond. Every time we drive past, Max points out the water and quacks at the ducks. He really loves ducks, but refuses to call them by their proper name. (This boy could fill a book on language development.) Maxwell loves animals like many other toddlers, but has a soft spot for the ducks. It seems strange to me, too.

The delight on Max's face is apparent. He tried to put his hand in the birds' mouths. Matthew enjoyed controlling the food source.

We suddenly became very popular as they clued into our treasure (stale rolls)....

Matthew told me later that he fed the Mama Duck most of the food. I asked how he knew which was the mother and he explained that because there was a giant curl on the top of her head. Of course. Just like how you spot any mom! (Obviously it's a bad hair time for me.)

A gap in the smile

Mark and I are each a little sad when our children change, because it means they are growing up. While we want them to grow and are happy that they are, it's hard not to mourn a little for that time of their life, since childhood is already so fleeting. Mark dislikes when the babies get teeth, because it sort of marks the end of the infant look. My lament is when they lose their first teeth, in particular the two front teeth. I think it's because they lose the little kid look forever- no longer the innocent Peter Pan stage of life (even though they're really still innocent).

When Katrina told me that her front teeth were loose, I had to take a picture, even though it was a rushed one before we had a chance to do something with the Bed Head Affliction we face each morning:

Our Little Girl, still looking like one.

She was excited to lose her teeth, and it didn't take long. One Sunday night she came down so excited to be missing one; suddenly having a hard time with the letter S.

Snaggletoothed Bean, albeit with leftover cold sores from a particularly difficult week.

She lost the second of the pair about ten days after the first, and was delighted to be symmetrical again. They came out with little fuss and we forget sometimes that she's missing them. I guess it's better than my arrangement: I was in 3rd grade and had loose teeth for a very long time, which were stubbornly refusing to come out. Many offered to pull them for me, but I declined until the siren song of floral scented scratch 'n sniff stickers were put up in exchange for the thrill of the pull (with pliers!!). I agreed, since the Puller was my older sister and I'd been coveting those stickers for awhile. I guess it must not have been quite the right time though; it was months before the new ones grew in. I sure heard "All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth" a lot that winter. In any case, I definitely was NOT as cute as this little girl is:

Jack O' Katrina at her class Valentine's Party

Snow Day

We recently had a couple of snow days. I grumble about more than one because one is a welcome break, two is enough already. Not to mention I hate making up the days. I would have no complaints if we didn't have to make them up. Usually Texas schools err on the side of caution and I scoff at their wimpiness, but storm was for real. It was an all-time record breaking snowstorm and wiped out several trees, bushes, and fences that are not used to such weight that comes with moisture-laden snow. We were glad that we kept our electricity. Others in the area (and across the country that week) were not as fortunate.

The fun thing about the storm was that one of the days, Mark worked from home. It was great to have him around and take the kids out to play in the stuff for one of their outings. I enjoy snow most from a distance or if I'm properly equipped, but my wardrobe is becoming more limited these days and I just really don't like the cold/wet combination. I'll take cold, I'll take wet, but I just don't want them together. The kids are impervious for the first hour or so, and then it's a tramp through the house looking for fresh gear, or to change completely, only to go out again an hour later.

All these pictures were only about a third the way through the storm. I really should have taken a picture of our smashed bushes in the front. Thankfully, they rose from their near-grave; many neighbors' foliage did not fare as well.





Besides, I couldn't go out. I was busy making these, not-very-fabulous-looking-yet-wonderful-tasting treats:

Pondering my writing

I've always thought writing about writing seems a little surreal, kind of like lessons in RS about the Relief Society or mystery shows about mystery shows. You know, like a picture on the cover of a book with a person holding that very same book, and you can see that person and the book growing smaller and smaller...

Writing for me has been a good outlet; something I've felt a need to do, almost like a desire to make music, to exercise , or to talk. It's not quite the same as talking, because I can sort myself out and make sense to myself and to others in different (and usually less offensive) ways. It is also a way of recording events in my life, keeping track of what's happening with my own little family, and reporting to my extended family. There are four basic ways I write:

• In my journal, which I do once or twice (supposed to be 4 times) a week
• In a weekly email, which most of my siblings skim (if read at all), but I send it out to all "immediate" family members nevertheless to let them know what's going on in my life
• In emails or chats: personal or quick notes to family or friends, things I can't put out there for the general public, but still need/want to communicate
• On this blog, which hopefully will be made into a book for our family history one day
  

Lately, I've been a horrible writer when it comes to blogging. I have several reasons for this, but the main ones are:

• I'm tired
• I'm unmotivated to do anything these days
  
• Everything I want to say seems to have a negative slant to it

Not to worry, I'm not depressed- just pregnant. But I'm getting to a better stage in my pregnancy when I have a little more energy and not quite as grumpy. However, I must apologize to any who are still out there who read this blog and wondering why I dropped off the end of the earth, only to pop up with absolutely ancient and stale posts of boring events. The recording family history events are actually the most tedious to me (and to you), but I do it for my children and also for the pictures, so loved ones can see pictures of my children growing up hundreds of miles away.

But I'm hoping to do better, and on this heavily snowing day when everything has been canceled, I'm officially caught up with the history. I can't promise funny, because that's not the kind of writer I am- if I happen to be funny, it's usually coincidental. But like it or not, I'm going to keep writing because it's an important part of my life.

Maxwell Makes it to Two!

It may not seem like that is worthy of a headline, but our Max is such a daredevil that I am only grateful he he still safe and sound as of this writing. After his stealthy escaping from the house undetected in May and being scooped up in the street by a lady who stopped her SUV in front of him, I thought we'd always know what's going on with him and that I could magically protect him from all harm. Ha!

This past year, he has figured out how to break past childproofing: open cleaning and medicine bottles (and sample each), turn on the gas stove, climb to places I never imagined, flush all sorts of crazy things down the toilet, disposal, and sink, break appliances (like our relatively new dishwasher), and scale the roof over the driveway the day after Christmas. We've made modifications for his personality that it seems other parents don't have to make: he has a crib tent, and what relief it brings. We really try to be aware of him at all times, but he is quick, daring, and thinks of things in such a different way that it is hard to anticipate his next move. It has been a humbling lesson in parenting and helps to console me that I am really not in charge. I know that He whose child this truly belongs has been watching over him. And every day I express gratitude that Max has been safe.

This is really a quite unflattering picture of me (and my pantry) at 7 am on a school morning, but Max is an affectionate child and loves to sit on my lap when he can be persuaded to be still. I love it, most of the time. Here he is getting animal crackers as a birthday gift. In the green bag are the books he loves to read over and over again, so much that we needed new copies since the older editions were too well loved: Brown Bear Brown Bear, Goodnight Moon, The Bellybutton Book, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

Not looking so thrilled with the big pack of blocks. But he loves them, he's just very up and down in the mornings. He loves playing with his blocks and a family member, as long as the family member does everything he wants. (Hey, he's 2.)

Max loves chocolate, and didn't burn himself on the candles this year!

He was eager to get started and dig in, as always. This boy will never starve to death. He has always been good at finding food (see intro, above) and helping himself. He can also boost himself up to the sink and drink out of a faucet, despite being rather short for his age.

"More ShaLocket cake, please." -Max is very mannerly (with the exception of his obvious lack of table manners), which we all appreciate, although I don't know why he's so good with the please-and-thank-yous and another child is not. In any case, it makes it hard to turn him down for anything, a detail of which he is probably well aware.

The day after his birthday, he went for his first x rays for his pinky finger, which was accidentally slammed in a door. (Nothing was broken, thanks for your concern.) I have no doubt of meeting our insurance deductible with this child. Life will always be exciting with Max.

If you don't share, you are a bum

When I was a little girl, my family used to listen to several Sesame Street records. (That makes me sound really old, but I'm really not. It's just that my family was committed to records for several years and didn't give them up until the late 80s. In fact, my younger sister -now 25- used to listen to Bedtime for Frances so often that my entire family had it memorized. ) So anyway, these records had a lot of really great songs on them, including some classics such as "C is for Cookie" and some lesser-known ones like "Roosevelt Franklin" (a character long since retired from the show).

Keep in mind, these records were made long before Sesame Street was PC, which is why one of the song's chorus ended in the title of today's subject: "If you don't share, you are a bum." I doubt that would make today's cut in any PBS Kids' production, but especially not the acutely socially-aware Sesame Street. In any case, the line from that song has been going through my head a lot these days. I think it has something to do with a concept we are struggling with at our house.

I have four children, all of whom are wonderful and intelligent in their own way. However, with every person there are some weaknesses, of which family members become intimately acquainted. Two of my children share both a weakness and a strength- each is very compassionate, giving affection and condolences when another person is sad, hurt, or frustrated. But each of these two has difficulty in sharing.

It makes me remember when I first realized a parallel between paying tithing/ giving back to the Lord and parenting. I had made some cookies and gave my children some. I had not yet eaten any and asked one child if I could have a bite of hers. Her response was to give me a tiny crumb off an edge. "Wait a minute!" I said. "I made this cookie! I gave it to you! And all you can do is to grudgingly give me back a crumb?"

Still, we struggle. It is so hard to share. With parents, with siblings, with anyone. Why are two of my children generally generous, and two of them not? And how can I encourage sharing and teach it without it sending them more in the other direction?